


Raw

by shreddingstars



Series: Lonesome Gods [2]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nipple Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7384969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shreddingstars/pseuds/shreddingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bruce acts like he's indulging Clark, calmly petting Clark's thick hair every time, but on the inside Bruce feels cracked open. This is so intimate that it aches."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raw

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for a prompt on the DCEU kinkmeme:
> 
> http://dceu-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1491.html?thread=301011#cmt301011
> 
> Hope you like it!

Clark looks at Bruce one day, and that's how it starts.

A year ago, Bruce promised a simple gravestone that he wouldn't wrongly blame Clark for anything again. He means to keep that promise now. Sipping his beer, Bruce nods, half at Clark's rambling and half at his own thought: Clark is not flirting with him. The man's in the middle of telling a joke. He's just making a facial expression.

And yet, it's an expression that leaves a crisp, vivid image imprinted on Bruce's memory. He closes his eyes and sees Clark's black cowlick. His raised eyebrows. His sheepish, teasing look over wide-rimmed glasses. His mouth about to burst open in laughter.

It's Friday night. Gotham and Metropolis are sleeping decently enough. Tonight, Bruce and Clark can have a conversation, drink beer, pretend to be normal friends. Jokes are allowed. Sly, bright, happy looks are allowed.

Clark snorts his way through the punchline and gulps down the rest of his beer. He's not drunk; Bruce knows Kryptonian physiology too well to think that. No, Clark is content. After everything -- dying, being left to rot, clawing out of a grave with wet soil in his lungs -- Clark Kent can still laugh. He can still shake off the weight of Superman's burdens and let that golden-boy personality shine through.  
  
In spite of himself, Bruce smirks behind his beer glass. He's come to appreciate that.

Clark catches him and grins wider.

~~

Lois and Clark are through. Bruce falls in love with Clark nine months later, and it takes a month for them to find each other. Clark melts for Bruce, touch-starved and shy and so, so sweet. It's not at all how Bruce imagines it would be, as the main word to describe it is _tender_. Bruce should want it rough and wild, he should be enjoying Clark's powerful body or testing the limits of his own. But instead he gets used to doings things slowly. Languidly.

Like now, for instance. Clark is panting, pumping himself slowly while Bruce pets his hole with a slick finger. Shiny with sweat, Clark keens, runs a finger over the tip of his penis, and spurts out a bit of precum as Bruce pushes in.

"Shhh," says Bruce, close to Clark's ear. Clark squeezes his eyes shut as more precum leaks from his plump, twitching member.

"Bruce," he huffs. They're facing each other on one of Bruce's plush beds, legs tangled together. Clark moves just a bit closer, and their foreheads and noses brush. "Holy God, I _can't_ \--"

"It's okay, Clark. You don't have to." Bruce slides his finger all the way into Clark's ass, searching. He finds that sensitive little spot easily and rubs until Clark shudders against his chest. Ah, Bruce thinks, there we are.

He closes his free hand over Clark's fist, helping Clark pump his own cock. Pressing on Clark's prostate, he kisses Clark's ear and whispers, "That's it, Clark. You can come."

Clark's mouth falls open, then snaps closed. Bruce actually chuckles, surprised that Clark still has enough presence of mind to stifle himself. But what comes next shocks Bruce to his core, makes his neglected cock swell. In his attempts to stay quiet, Clark has started pressing his mouth to Bruce's chest. He kisses the flushed skin over and over, trailing to the right. When Bruce doesn't pull away, Clark moans low in his throat and latches on to Bruce's nipple as he comes.

He suckles as if to drink, and Bruce shouts.

~~

Bruce feels raw in the chest for days afterward. The memory makes him orgasm so hard he sees stars.

~~

Unsurprisingly, nipples become a thing.

Clark takes to using Bruce's nipples to soothe his own cries of ecstasy before he comes. Then he starts using it at random during sex. One day, he catches Bruce in the kitchen, rucks up his clean dress shirt, and kisses each nipple in turn until both of them spill in their pants like teenagers. Bruce acts like he's indulging Clark, calmly petting Clark's thick hair every time, but on the inside Bruce feels cracked open. This is so intimate that it aches.

He sucks on Clark's nipples too, of course. Clark's ministrations have Bruce sighing and holding him close, but Bruce's attentions make Clark scream. Either way, it's all about Clark. It's about giving Clark the comfort Bruce never had. Bruce will never take it for himself -- vulnerability doesn't jibe with the Batman identity he's so carefully carved out after all these years -- but giving comfort to Clark...

Well. Clark is undoubtedly eager to take.

~~

Clark shows up at Wayne manor one day, eyes sunken and haunted. Bruce has been standing at the door for ten minutes by then, waiting to let him in. The TV blares in the background. Bruce cuts it off, interrupting a breaking news broadcast about the disturbed, hard-eyed widow who spat on Superman. He puts a hand on the small of Clark's back, guides him into the warmth of Wayne manor.

They sit around for a while. Both of them know that Batman recovers so much more quickly from things like this. So when these things do happen, Clark's touch always feels extra reverent, as if he wants to take some of Bruce's emotional resilience for himself.

Tonight, Clark bows his head against Bruce's chest, shaking.

Bruce cups the back of his neck, coaxing him into place.


End file.
